Sweaty Remorse
by AFIS
Summary: Elliot and Olivia's first time together and all the angsty goodness that inevitably brings.


**A/N-Read and enjoy. I don't normally post on the SVU stories but I figured, why not? Tell me if you like. Tell me if you don't. This story originally was supposed to be something else so the beginning may seem a little weird when reading the rest of it. I tried to edit most of the weirdness/grammar issues/typos out but if I missed anything...oops, mea culpa. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own SVU no matter how much I dream that Dick Wolf is my father. Suing me would be of no benefit to you NBC because I'm in college unless you count my measly waitress salary as a profit worth going after. Thanks.**

The sex between them was anything but fast or furious. It was such a longtime coming that it wouldn't be fair to the both of them to make it a seven minute dash to the finish. Fucking wasn't even in their vocabulary but slow burning tease sessions…that was a word she could use to describe this. She couldn't help but wonder if she would like the sex between them to be fast but one quick slow circuit around her dripping eagerly waiting slit told her otherwise.

He must like pushing her to the end of her rope no matter how fucking hard it was for her. He must like seeing her squirm and writhe in frustration while he sat there on his fucking high perch with that cat ate the canary smile. But she liked it. She wanted to be his bitch in heat more than she wanted air to sustain her life. Being his bitch was the crowning sexual achievement in her forty some odd years and she wanted, no needed, to fulfill that role to the best of her ability. She only had one shot to get this right. But he certainly wasn't making it easy on her.

Fuck, did he have some kind of spell cast on those hands? Those warm callused pieces of flesh she had spent years wondering what would feel like on her own battle scarred body…it was too much, not enough, just right all at the same time. But those burning trails of his fingertips just ended up highlighting his tears hitting her flesh. Why the fuck was he crying? Wasn't she giving him everything he needed? But then it hit her.

He feels guilty.

God, guilt was something that he lived by. He was hardly a good Catholic boy; he never even had a chance at being a champion of the faith after all of the things he did in his past years. It was always a running joke between them that if he did suddenly die on the job, she would probably find him haunting the halls of the cribs because St. Peter wouldn't let him into the pearly gates. Always laughing it off as a joke, she could tell he was secretly beating himself up about it.

It was so fucking hard to concentrate on anything but his talented fingers running, more like sauntering, up her body. Even through his anguish he was the best lover she had had in a long time. Now he was putting his tongue into the equation…fuck that was one talented tongue and she could tell it was getting bored. Dancing on her flesh wasn't enough and she could see him slowly skate his talented appendage down to her Taj Mahal. Her secret place which happened to be the only place that he had yet see of her over their ten years of being partners with each other.

Every slightly inappropriate joke or wink went right to that secret place and transformed itself from words to a hot fluid that would run down her thighs. It was so hard to think when that happened and she would have to excuse herself too often to take care of the problem. Once it got so bad she had to constantly bring a pair of extra panties to change into.

Everything between them was becoming to be too much. The passion brimming under the surface of everything they did to each other, the smoke and mirrors routine the regularly employed to everyone in the precinct. This was too much for her to bear by herself. She needed something to hold onto, something to base her whole existence on. She needed him to show her that he felt the same as she did about everything.

Reaching out to for his strong arms when they were so far away was almost impossible. God, it was so hard to breathe. Where was he when she needed him; his face, his arms, his blue eyes. Looking down she could tell he was not going to give her the guidance she needed since he was practically bleeding for guidance himself. Oh, don't get her wrong, he loved this but he wasn't quite all there enough to realize that she was an active participant in this forbidden dance for two. If he was there he would have seen the apprehension that was slowing warping itself around this whole encounter.

Somewhere around feeling his engorged member leaking onto her thigh and feeling his tongue play her clit like a fiddle, she couldn't help but start to cry. She never thought she'd say this but being his bitch wasn't enough. Being mindless wasn't enough. Her body and his body were into it but their minds were somewhere else. He was thinking about that fucking guilt and she was thinking about the salty substance rolling from her eyes. Tears, crying, sadness, all of this became dependent on him. This man was killing her. He was her protection and her only excuse for living but he was also the nasty secret burning her up inside. It was building and warping into something bigger than her body could keep inside. She was going to implode. No woman wants to implode upon herself and especially not her.

But he wasn't getting the hint was he? She had been crying for what felt like several hours and he was just looking at her from his own tear stained eyes like nothing was wrong.

"Why," He looked her up and down. "Isn't this what you want?"

She knew what she should say. She knew that this was wrong for him to cheat on his estranged wife of how many years, to give up on the kids that he had helped put on this world but it felt too good to be like this. Even through the tears they both were sharing, he had hardly made any attempt to stop and neither had she. They were in this together. They had been in like with each for too long. It was time to make the step to love no matter the consequences.

"I'm ready, El. Are you?"

"My body's ready, Livy. My brain will never be ready so…fuck it. Let's just do this so it can be done with. You with me?"

His question was hardly anything but rhetorical. He didn't need an answer nor did he expect one and she was hardly going to give one either.

She waited patiently for him to grab a condom from her dresser and put it on. The first slight nudge of his member asked for access and with a sigh, she looked up at his eyes and smiled her consent. There would be no going back after this. Their relationship would never be the same. Kathy would be pissed, Cragen would try to split them up because of their inevitable co-dependency on each other, Munch and Fin would grin and congratulate but how would he act after this? How would Elliot act knowing that he had performed adultery on his wife? But more importantly, how would his guilt manifest itself? Would he become wild and impossible to work with like several years ago?

Feeling his member twitch inside her, she looked away from his suddenly never-ending gaze. It was too much. All of it was too much. She always felt like she was wallowing in guilt with him. She was hardly a guilty person until she was with him.

Why couldn't he speed things the fuck up? She couldn't help but think sardonically that didn't he have a wife and sixteen heads of kids to take care of? But no, that wouldn't be them. She always knew that he would fuck her like a librarian reads a good book; slowly and with great detail. He liked to watch her squirm because he knew that she hated it just as much as he loved it and she liked to give him what he wanted.

Fuck tomorrow, she thought. It was all about the now and it felt fucking fabulous. She knew she would regret it later but she didn't care. Nothing mattered accept the feel of Elliot inside of her. She could see that he was still crying slightly but it could have been just sweat from their exertions. Yes, that was what it was. Sweat not tears.


End file.
